"You're going to leave me here to be eaten alive?"

"That's the plan."

"Then you're no f.u.c.king better than me!"

"I never said I was. This is for f.u.c.king with me and my people. Payback's a b.i.t.c.h."

Standing up, Robson walked away, enjoying the terror in Price's eyes.

Price refused to beg for mercy. f.u.c.k it, he would rather be eaten alive than show any weakness to that motherf.u.c.ker. His best revenge would be breaking free and escaping. He tried shaping his hand into a funnel and slipping it through the cuffs, but Robson had attached them too tight. The nearest deader was less than fifty feet away.

Bracing himself for the pain, Price jerked on the handcuffs. Nothing happened. He kept it up, trying harder each time. When he glanced over his shoulder, the deaders had closed to within twenty feet. Placing his hand on the b.u.mper and taking a deep breath, he summoned all his strength for one final yank. The cracking of bones accompanied the agony of his wrist being shattered, and his broken hand slipped out of the cuffs. Steadying himself on his one good leg and one good hand, Price stood up.

A hand clutched at his face, and he smelled decayed flesh. Jumping back, Price lost his balance and fell against the Hummer. The deader stumbled forward and pushed him against the vehicle. Price tried to run, but his leg gave out and he fell to the ground, the deader landing on top of him. He reached under the Hummer with his good hand, hoping to find something to grab on to so he could pull himself under the vehicle. Other hands grasped at his legs, more and more getting a hold until the horde dragged him away. Price tried to fend them off. Decayed fingers ripped at his clothes and dug into his flesh, while several sets of teeth bit into his limbs. Price screamed, a bloodcurdling cry that ended when several of the deaders ripped open his chest cavity and tore out his lungs.

Robson jogged away, wanting to put as much distance as possible between him and the approaching rotters. DeWitt and Roberta stood by the gate, wary eyes on the horde.

"Is everything okay down this end?" he asked.

DeWitt nodded. "No rotters or gang members, if that's what you mean."

"What happened to Allard and Frakes?"

"They were killed during the gun fight with the gang members. Did you find Windows?"

"No. Apparently she had an escape plan and put it into play when the fighting started. I don't know what it is, though. I want to take-"

Robson stopped when Dravko and Tibor approached from down Parade Road. He noticed the blood covering their clothes. "Where were you?"

"Two of them tried to escape," said Dravko. "We stopped them."

"Has anyone seen Caslow or Jennifer?" asked DeWitt.

The expression on Robson's face said it all. Roberta raised her hands to her mouth. "I'm sorry."

"Thanks. I haven't seen Caslow, though."

"What now?" Dravko asked.

"You and Tibor finish releasing the prisoners, and then bring the Ryder here and load them on board. DeWitt and I will clean out the rest of the compound. There's still a few civilians in here who need to be rescued. Roberta, grab one of the Hummers and see if you can track down Windows. She should be with a little girl."

"Do you really think we'll find her?"

"We have to try." Robson turned back into the compound where the rotters swarmed around the Hummer H3. "Otherwise all this was for nothing."

Windows and Cindy did not stop running until they traveled far enough along Route 28 that they could no longer see the storage facility. Even then, the two maintained a brisk pace. Windows maneuvered them to the shoulder and kept her ears open for anything that might be following them, human or living dead. She only felt at ease when they turned onto the second road on the left. They followed it for what seemed like forever, and Windows began to think Lee must have been wrong, when off to the right she saw a chain link fence reflecting the moonlight. She broke into a jog, pulling an exhausted Cindy behind her. She almost cried when she saw that the fence surrounded a construction site.

The main gate was not locked. Pushing it open, they stepped inside and stopped. Windows listened for any unusual sounds, still wary of walking into a trap or a swarm of rotters. The only noise came from crickets. Taking Cindy by the hand and giving it a rea.s.suring squeeze, the two entered the site.

It took only a few minutes to find the metal garage. Inside sat the Rav-4, just as Lee had said. Sliding open the garage door, she walked round the SUV. The tires were still inflated. Boxes of canned goods, bottled water, and weapons and ammunition were stored in back. She helped Cindy into the pa.s.senger side before sliding into the driver's seat. The keys dangled from the ignition. Taking them in her hand, she paused for a moment to say a silent prayer that this would work, and turned them.

The engine roared to life on the first try.

Windows burst into tears. She laid her forehead against the steering wheel and cried until a tiny hand patted her arm.

"Everything will be okay now," Cindy rea.s.sured her.

It may not be okay, thought Windows, but it will be h.e.l.l of a lot better than what we're used to.

Using the back of her hand, Windows wiped the tears from her eyes and the snot from her nose. She smiled at Cindy. "Where do we go now?"

"As far away from here as possible."

"Deal."

Pulling out of the garage, Windows crossed the construction site, exited onto the road, and turned north.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE.

Natalie had replaced Pandelosi in the co-pilot's seat an hour earlier. Not that she knew how to pilot an aircraft in case of emergency; her job was to make sure they didn't lose contact with Interstate 80 below them and to make sure Everett didn't fall asleep. She had tried chatting with him, but he was not in a talkative mood. He was pleasant enough when he asked her for the time or to keep an eye on the console while he checked navigational charts, but other than that, he shunned conversation. She tried a different approach.

"What do you know about the Beachhead and the new government-in-exile?"

"Not much more than what the lieutenant probably already told you. Why?"

"You seemed like the type of guy who'd have contacts who know things."

Everett chuckled, the first positive emotion she had seen from him. "I do, but everyone I know is pretty tight lipped. The GIE is afraid that if it becomes know how good they have it at the Beachhead, others might try and take it away. RUMINT has it that one of the local gangs that survived the outbreak has already made a move against the Beachhead and was driven back. Secretary Fogel is gathering forces to go on the offensive and take back the country, and he doesn't want to squander them on gang wars."

"How can he do that? Most of us have barely been able to survive the last nine months."

Everett shrugged. "Somehow the Secretary has established a viable, safe community. They've been rescuing anyone who can make it to San Francisco and survive the revenants and the gangs. One of the pilots who used to make commuter runs between the Beachhead and Omaha kept urging me to put in for the a.s.signment. He said it was a lot safer than being stuck out in the middle of nowhere. I guess he was right."

"Well, you finally made it-"

A voice came across the speakers.

"This is Alameda Naval Air Station to unidentified aircraft approaching the Bay from the northwest. Please identify yourself. Over."

Everett leaned back to yell into the aircraft. "Lieutenant, we have Alameda on the horn!"

"This is Alameda Naval Air Station to unidentified aircraft approaching the Bay from the northwest. Identify yourself. Over."

Pandelosi joined them in the c.o.c.kpit. Everett switched the audio to the speakers. "Alameda, this is Flight 98 from Omaha. Landing designation Alpha Echo Bravo. Requesting permission to land. Over."

"Hang on Omaha 98. Over."

The moment of radio silence that followed felt interminable.

"Omaha 98, we have you scheduled for a 1400 arrival time, which is almost eight hours from now. Over."

"We had to leave Omaha early because of a swarm of revenants. We are requesting permission to land. Over."

"Permission denied, Omaha 98. Over."

Everett stared at the speaker. "Could you repeat that, Alameda?"

"Permission to land at Alameda Naval Air Station is denied at this time. We do not have the support personnel, medical staff, or containment facilities set up at this time to handle your arrival. Come back at the designated time when we are set up and permission will be granted. Over."

Everett stared at the women in disbelief. "Alameda, what the f.u.c.k do you mean come back at the designated time? We've been flying all night and are almost out of fuel, and I lost an engine. We land now or we crash into the Bay."

"We appreciate your situation, Omaha 98, but we cannot grant permission at this time. Over."

"Can we at least land and remain in quarantine at the far end of the runway until 1400?"

"Negative, Omaha 98. If there are infected on the plane, there is the potential risk of spreading it through the community. Sorry. If you attempt to land, we will shoot you down without warning. Is that understood, Omaha 98? Over."

"Yeah, Alameda. And f.u.c.k you. Out." Everett ripped off the headphones and flung them across the c.o.c.kpit where they shattered against the windscreen.

"Now what?" Natalie asked.

Pandelosi opened the map. "What's the next nearest airport?"

"That would be San Francisco International. It's ten miles south of the Beachhead, with the entire city between us and sanctuary. We wouldn't make it two miles."

"So we're screwed," Pandelosi sighed.

"Not yet." Everett turned the C-130 a few degrees west. "A couple of the other pilots I knew told me about an emergency improvised airstrip not far from here. They used it mostly for choppers and small aircraft."

"Can a C-130 land on it?" Pandelosi asked.

"They say if you're really good or insane you can." Everett grinned. "That just doubled our odds. Go back and tell everybody to buckle up. The next few minutes are going to be tricky."

Everett held Natalie in place. "I need you up here with me."

"I don't know how to fly."

"You have to make sure there's nothing on the runway."

"And if there is?"

"Let me know before I hit it."

Natalie buckled herself in and looked out the starboard window. San Francis...o...b..y pa.s.sed beneath them and got closer as Everett began his descent. A few minutes later, they made landfall. She calculated their alt.i.tude as no more than two hundred feet. The C-130 turned to port.

"Keep your eyes open, ma'am."

Natalie leaned forward to better see out the windshield and gasped. The improvised airfield Everett had mentioned turned out to be a two-thousand-foot length of an eight-lane highway that had been cleared of vehicles and obstructions. Cars, trucks, guard rails, signs, and lamp posts lay in twisted heaps of metal along the outer shoulders. At the far end of the makeshift runway, less than two thousand feet away, sat a collection of helicopters and small aircraft. On either side, the hills loomed large in the night sky, their shadows precariously close to the wings.

Everett lowered the landing gear and pulled back on the thrust levers. The C-130's speed and alt.i.tude dropped. For a second, it felt as if the aircraft would fall out of the sky. Natalie glanced at the air speed indicator. It read forty miles per hour.

"Eyes on the highway, ma'am. Let me worry about not stalling her."

Everett brought the C-130 down with a heavy thud that shook the entire aircraft. He throttled back the engines, dropped flaps, and applied the brakes.

She saw the rotter a split second before they struck it. It staggered along the highway, and had turned toward the noise when the left landing gear ran over it. The entire plane lurched as the rotter went under the wheels. Two more appeared ahead and to the right. Instinctively, Everett pulled the yoke left to avoid them. He didn't see the military Humvee sitting on the third lane. The outer port propeller clipped the vehicle, and both exploded in an array of sparks and twisted metal. Natalie flinched when she heard the chunks slam against the fuselage. Everett brought the C-130 to a stop two hundred feet from the other aircraft and shut down the engines.

Natalie peered out the starboard windshield. The two rotters they had tried to avoid were splattered across the highway after having been shredded by the starboard engine. She saw a few figures along in the shadows, although not enough to be a concern.

"Is everyone all right?" Natalie asked.

"I think so," responded Pandelosi.

"There's a few rotters in the area. Have my girls set up a perimeter and take them out with knifes rather than shoot them. I don't want to make any more noise than we already have."

"Aye, aye, honey," she heard Emily respond.

"Everett," Natalie said, "that was impressive. I mean it."

"I've had better landings," he gasped.

"They say any landing you can walk away from is a good one."

"For me it won't be that good." Everett motioned toward his left leg. A piece of metal was imbedded into his thigh directly across from a basket ball-sized hole in the fuselage.

"Oh my G.o.d, you're hurt!"

"I'll live."

Natalie unbuckled herself and reached over to unstrap Everett. "We have to get you medical attention."

Everett stopped her. "You can't take me with you."

"I'm not going to leave you here."